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writersdrug · 3 days

Text

Simon Riley x Dog Sitter! Reader pt. 2

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Warnings: light cursing, light nsfw, Simon being the tiniest bit of a creep

A/N: so originally this was just a fluffy thought I had a few weeks ago... it's slowly turning into a longer, multi-chapter series, and Simon is a bit darker than I had intended him to be... but the story is still going to stay relatively normal (there will be full NSFW further down the line, lol)!

Sure enough, Simon had emailed you by Tuesday afternoon. You noticed how... unprofessional it was. Not that he had been rude or obscene, but it was obviously written by someone who never had to write many emails for his career.

here is riley's routine. she likes walks, usually 3 or 4 a day. she eats one scoop in the morning and one at night. she doesn't finish her food all at once, but she'll come back to it. if you're gonna give her more cookies, just two per day. fill water every morning. around the house, if you could just dust and clean up any dog hair, that would be great. let me know if meeting me tomorrow at 0900 for the key works. I ship out thursday. thanks.

Simon.

You chewed your thumb nail, reclining on your couch with a confused expression. Was he irritated with you for some reason? He didn't show it at the interview if he did have any hostile feelings... you reminded yourself that he was a rather gruff man, and maybe that just bled into his written words, too. You rolled your shoulders and started working out your reply.

Hello Simon! Tomorrow works perfect for me, I'll be there by 9 am!

Does Riley have any favorite places she likes to go? Any particular spots or trails she enjoys? Also, are there any rules you have for her, like being on the couch? Is she ok going to the dog park? Lastly, does she take any medications I should be aware of?

See you soon!

You sent the message, sighing and dropping your head back against the arm of the sofa. You were honestly thankful that you'd gotten the job, even if Simon was a rather stiff client. You finally quit your shitty job, and while you did still have babysitting your niece and nephew, you never charged for that - the only time you were "paid" for it was when you took them out somewhere fun, and your sister forced you to accept money for the admission fee.

So this gig fell into your lap at the perfect time. And the fact that you had beat every other person Simon had interviewed made your ego soar. It wouldn't be a bad idea to make a career out of this, you thought.

Your phone dinged - you held it above your face, and saw that Simon had already responded. You sat upright and opened the email.

she only takes aspirin when her leg flares up. no more than twice a day. no favorite trails, we just go around the block a few times. she can sit on the couch, my bed too, but she'll need help getting up. no human food is the only other rule. never took her to a dog park, but if you really want to, that's fine. she's good with other dogs.

Simon.

You frowned. Walking the same block every day, multiple times each day, sounded awful. It wasn't even close to animal neglect, but you couldn't imagine walking the same route every single time. If it didn't drive Riley insane, it certainly would for you.

You read back over the email, your eyes lingering on "if her legs flare up." Simon had never discussed Riley having arthritis with you - and you sincerely hoped that was the reason she had leg pain, and nothing else. You made a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow as you began to write your reply.

Understood. Thanks again!

--------------

"Here's the basement." Simon said, leading you down the stairs and into a dullish room. It had a cheaply-manufactured desk, what appeared to be a dining chair (not matching the dining set upstairs), a stuffed bookshelf, and some cardboard boxes filled with paper. A fan stood in the far corner, and next to it was the washing room. Much like what he had shown you of the rest of the house, it was bland and drab.

You looked around, letting out a polite noise of approval. Truth be told, Simon's life seemed awfully boring to you. Your mother had always told you that military men were always overly practical, in more than just home decor. They never cared much for the environment around them, as long as there was no mold, or anything similar. But you had never expected it to be so brutally true.

You knew he had a life outside of his home - from the way he described it, he was usually deployed more often than he was in his own home country. But you wondered - what did he do for fun, besides watch the telly? Did he have friends, and were they all like him? Any hobbies?

"If for whatever reason y' need to clean up a stain, you can find solution in there." He said, pointing to the washer room. "Other than that, nothin' much to see down 'ere."

You followed him as he trudged back up the stairs. Riley was sat upright on the floor, watching you and Simon move about the house with an observant expression.

"The only other things I'll ask you to do is hoover n' dust when it looks like it needs it." He said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "There really isn't much else t' do; of course, if you do see anything that needs fixin' you can always text me." He rolled his head from side to side, wincing as he worked out a crick in his neck. "Might not answer immediately, but I'll see it."

You nodded, standing in the walkway of the kitchen. Even with him leaning against the counter, muscles hidden under his sweatshirt, he was huge. For a brief moment, you imagined what he looked like on the field, dressed in his uniform and holding a gun - but you quickly shooed the thought from your mind before it had the chance to latch on and fester. "Gotcha. And just so I know, do you let Riley sleep with you?"

Simon paused in confusion before he responded. "Come again?"

"Like- you know, if I crash on the couch, is she allowed up with me?" You said, shifting your weight. You couldn't quite tell if Simon was irked by your question, or if he was genuinely confused.

He paused again. "Uh, yea, that's fine. If y' don't mind waking up covered in 'er slobber."

You laughed. "Nah, I'm used to it. A little drool never bothered me. Although, if I do need to wash up, am I alright to use the shower? Or would you rather I use my own back at my flat?"

Suddenly, it clicked in Simon's head. You were planning on sleeping at his house.

He had assumed you would just stop by for walks and meals - he didn't expect you to actually live here while he was gone, and he wasn't sure how it made him feel. He'd never had anyone else spend the night. Hell, no one ever visited, besides the rare occasions of the rest of the 141 stopping by. Even then, they never stayed for longer than a conversation or two.

But, once he took a second to think about it, he realized it might be better if you did stay - at least, while he was on missions. Riley would be bored out of her mind if she was alone that long, especially after spending the past several weeks with Simon constantly there. It would be good for someone to be there when he wasn't, and you seemed like you would be the best person for that, of course.

"Sure, 's fine." He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just don't touch my shit in there."

"Don't worry about that..." You said quietly, "catch me dead and cold before I touch a 3-in-1 anything."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. It was refreshing that you could handle his gruffness - most people treated him like a landmine, never wanting to say the wrong thing and set him off. You seemed to have taken life by the horns, like you weren't afraid to bite back at someone. He wondered if that was all for show, or if you really would snap back if he was to test you...

He pushed himself off the counter and reached into the drawer behind him, pulling out a spare key. He walked over to you and held it out. You were just about to take it, when he suddenly yanked it back.

You faltered. "Sorry...?"

"You lose this key..." Simon began lowly, "n' I'll frame you for murder. Understood?"

You gaped, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He didn't really mean that... did he? You waited for him to laugh and say he was just joking... but he never did. His eyes bored into yours so intensely, making you shiver, as he waited for you to answer.

"Y-yes, sir. Understood." You said, voice wavering a bit.

He grunted in satisfaction, then handed you the key. You let out the breath you had been holding, then cautiously took the key, before immediately attaching it to your lanyard. You didn't want to take any chances at losing it - not after Simon's threat. You took a deep breath and smiled at him, trying to dust the exchange off of your shoulders.

"You can come 'round tomorrow after o' nine hundred, I'll be out by then." He said, turning sideways to moce past you and heading towards the door. You followed behind and rubbed Riley's head when you passed her; she let out a contented sound.

"Feel free t' use the kitchen if you'll be stayin' overnight." He opened the door for you and leaned against it.

"Will do, thank you!" You chirped, hovering on the landing outside of his house, right were you were two days ago. "Thank you for showing me around - good luck on your- mission- deployment, thingamajig!"

He huffed. "Promise I will, luv."

Your spine tingled in response to his comment. Get it together, don't get your knickers in a twist over a client. You thought. You straightened your posture and cleared your throat.

"Well, see you around!" You said with a smile, then hopped down the steps to your car.

Simon waved, taking a moment to watch you pull out of his driveway. He shut the door and leaned back against it, exhaling slowly through his nostrils.

He was an observant man - he had to be, with his occupation. Your reaction to being called "luv" didn't fly over his head. And it's not like Simon didn't know the effect he had on women... he knew how he looked, how he presented himself, and he saw the reactions it got him.

But with you, something felt different. He saw your reaction, and a part of him wanted to chase after it. To see what you would do if he continued to apply pressure to your weak spots. Would you blush? Would you call him out? Would you drop the gig altogether?

He thought about how easily the word "sir" had rolled off of your tongue. He thought about how you would look, all tuckered out on his couch, donned in whatever pajamas you decided to wear, your face peaceful and expression soft as you slept - he imagined you in his shower, the room filled with warm steam and the scent of your shampoo, water hitting your skin as you-

Riley barked, making Simon jolt where he stood. She stared at him, ears turned to the side as she whined. She could always tell when he began to dissociate, and knew just as much as he did that it wasn't a good sign.

Simon sighed, running a hand down his face. "Get it together, fuckin' creep." He muttered to himself. "I need a bloody hobby, f' Christ's sake..."

He blamed it on the upcoming mission. He would typically stress about it beforehand, and if there was anything else that could occupy his mind, he would fixate on it. Right now, unfortunately, you were the victim. But he buried it deep down into his subconscious - it wasn't fair to you.

He pushed himself off of the door and headed towards the washroom, adjusting his crotch as he went. He figured he should at least tidy it up a bit, since you would be using it. The only other people who had been in there were Johnny and Captain Price, and of course, they never cared if there were trimmers on the counter, or if the mirror had splotches from toothpaste residue.

Hopefully, he'd forget all about you - at least, while he was on the mission.

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Taglist: @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @jisungswiftie @sweet-tooth4you @kennyis-aloser @hyyyxr @lahniu @dory-98 @naradae

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #simon riley x reader smut #ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #cod fanfiction #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #cod x reader

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rootbeerworshiper · 18 hours

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means something

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summery: your best friend stopped talking to you suddenly but you need one last chance at closure

warnings: angst lol

a/n: short and sweet (and sad) but i had fun writing it. alsoooo it’s based on the song but you don’t need the song playing in the background bc the pacing is different

love, sienna <3

you let out a defeated sigh as you focus your attention on a blank sheet of paper. it was supposed to be easy now, easier to let out your thoughts and begin to reconstruct your views on the situations that bring you sadness. at least that’s what your therapist advised you.

but instead you have nothing but small doodles of hearts on the top of the paper, serving as nothing but a sad reminder of your own life and how it lacks the love you always read about.

‘hopeless romantic’ used to feel like the wrong word, because there was a point where you had hope for a story like you see in the movies. a classic romantic comedy plot line was one you had always yearned for.

it’s silly how badly you’ve wanted it. you know you’re a complete person without it, you have strengths and aspirations and you cannot base your worth onto stupid boys.

but he wasn’t stupid. not in the slightest, regardless of what others said about him.

he was thoughtful and caring in ways no one else has been to you. never in your life have you seen someone so in touch with their own emotions at that level.

that’s because he’s special. to you and to so many other people.

April 17th, 2022

dear Matt,

i’m not entirely sure how to do this whole thing but it’s a step in healing that i’m more than inclined to take. part of me just really wants to get better so i have to do something to help me.

it might seem really random that i’m mailing you a letter, and trust me i understand how odd it is. but for once i needed you to hear me, and i can’t really send this message to a blocked number.

i can’t see anything in life without thinking of you. i saw a street sign the other day and i had to squint because, for a moment i thought i saw your last name plastered on the plastic. and i thought that it meant something. like the universe was trying to tell me something.

how pathetic is that? you know i can’t even have most of my favourite snacks anymore because they were our favourite snacks. the new foods you introduced me to when i forced you to watch ‘to all the boys i’ve loved before’ with me in middle school are practically forbidden from my apartment.

“this is the dumbest movie concept ever” Matt speaks, an annoyed undertone to his voice as he looks to me.

“you haven’t even watched it yet how can it be dumb? you know you might end up enjoying it if you watch it with an open mind” i reply, snuggling into his arm as my body rests on the soft couch cushion.

it definitely doesn’t take long for him to become invested.

“wait someone sent the letters?”

“why is she kissing him? doesn’t she like margo’s boyfriend?”

“damn they’re really just making out in a public hot tub”

the movie comes to a close, a cute song playing as the credits roll. “so, what did you think?”

“i think that i really like root beer and i really need the second movie now” he exclaims, sipping his bubbly liquid before looking down at me with the same blue eyes that can easily make me dizzy.

“i thought you’d come around Matt”

now i’m just a girl getting sad over a canned soda and a familiar brand of chips because it reminds me of all the good that once was.

along with this, i know everything about you.

i know your zodiac sign, me and leo’s are really compatible, which i never failed to mention to you despite how little you believe in astrology.

i can’t lie, the amount of silly little compatibility quizzes i took throughout middle school with our names punched in was a bit excessive, but every time without fail i would get the answers i had hoped for. and i thought that meant something.

i know how hard it was growing up for you. but i was there for you when you needed someone to force you to go to school in the morning, or when you needed help ordering food at the gas station across the street.

i used to think we were soulmates. not always romantic, but we just understood each other so well and i considered it to be sacred.

whenever i went through my own shit you were there for me. it was always so easy. knowing that if i had a bad day i had someone to go to who would listen with open ears… i guess it’s just been hard to live without that.

“Matt why did he break up with me? am i that unlovable?” i cry out, my head buried in matt’s chest as he rubs small circles on the back of my head.

he just pulls my head off of him, hands placed on either cheek as he looks at me. “i don’t think there is anyone on this planet that is more lovable than you”

i sniffle, trying my best to suppress the numerous tears that want nothing more than to escape my eyes. “so why did he break up with me out of the blue? after eight months why did he just decide he’s done with me?”

“because he’s an idiot who doesn’t understand the girl he just lost”

i cried for hours that night when my boyfriend broke up with me, and i know you remember. the next morning i woke up in your arms and i immediately felt guilty for keeping you up so late with my sob stories, but you didn’t care.

you said you wanted what’s best for me and you would make it your life’s goal to make me happy. and then you had the audacity to run your fingers through my hair as i thought about what to do next. that along with the constant reminders of how much i deserved love, that it was a definite thing for me.

how is that okay? do you not see how that was so completely confusing? did it mean absolutely nothing?

i haven’t kissed many people in my life, something Chris loved to tease me about. what he doesn’t know is that you were my first.

we never talked about it. maybe that was for the best, because every time i see a picture of you all i can think about is how good your lips felt on mine.

“i can’t just kiss you!” i laugh out, taking another swig of my drink before wiping my lips and looking back at the boy who has a serious expression resting on his face.

“sure you can. i don’t want jack to have an unfortunate ending to your guys’ date if u end up like… licking his bottom lip or some shit” he argues, holding his own drink in his own hand but keeping his attention solely on me.

“you’re just saying that because you’re drunk”

“maybe” he replies, sensing my hesitance. “is the idea of kissing me that bad?”

“no! no of course not, i just don’t wanna make it weird between us” i say, suddenly feeling a pool of anxiety form in my stomach.

but then, before i could form another overwhelming thought you just kissed me. just like that your lips were attached to mine and everything felt okay.

it was short lived, although i know i could have been like that forever. “nothing could ever make things weird between us, promise”

it’s funny isn’t it? how many times we assured each other that our friendship was solid, unbreakable.

i think the worst part is the not knowing. there’s nothing to comfort me with.

you left one day and you simply never spoke to me again. was it my fault? was it something i said?

i can’t help but wonder if the reason you cut it off is because you noticed all the small glances i would take in your direction. or if you noticed that the reason why i love romance books so much is because i imagine we’re the main characters.

that’s the thing though, i’ll never know. i feel less like myself without you, but maybe that’s part of growing up.

i have to learn what my own favourite snacks are and i can’t reply on you to have my back when i get my heart broken. instead i’ll be crying in an empty bed wondering what could’ve happened differently.

this wasn’t supposed to be a long letter but i promise it’s the only one you’ll be getting from me because i have to do the same as you, i have to move on.

i just have one question for you.

did all of this mean something to you? like really mean something to you in the way that i interpreted it.

i’ve wondered if i was delusional when i caught you staring at me from across the classroom, or when i found those compatibility tests in your search history.

but the kiss? drunk or not i thought something was there, with you or with us or whatever else. i didn’t think i was just another girl that Matt Sturniolo kisses and then forgets about but that’s exactly what i became.

anyways, i hope this letter finds you well. i had to ask Nate for your address but please don’t get mad at him. you know how stubborn i am when i want something and he tried to say no.

i guess i just love you, and i’m trying my best to make that sentence into past tense.

thanks for listening, y/n.

you grab an envelope that resides on the edge of your desk and open it up. folding up your letter and placing it gently inside before licking the tip of the envelope and closing it.

it all feels metaphorical. pouring your heart out just for it to get concealed by a thin piece of paper and shipped away.

regardless, you breathe out, standing up and making your way over to the garage to start your car. if you don’t do it know you won’t do it at all, and you need him to hear you.

a/n: if u want a part 2 you might get one maybe… we’ll see what i’m feeling anyways hope you enjoyed this blurb

taglist: @lolasnoww-blog @tastesousweet @ivypoison @disturbedwoodelf @sturnswift @junnniiieee07 @ellie-luvsfics @sturnified @madsdogst @justlivinglive @sluttycupsworld @flowerxbunnie @mbsbaby @sturniolossmut @lustfulslxt @69isabella69 @dracoflaco @mattslatinagf @raekensluver @worldlxvlys @greatooglymooglyyy @breeloveschris @st7rnioioss @imwetforyourmom @sturniolololover @immuneweed @its-jennarose @taco-taco-posts @luverboychris @gracealwaysdisgrace @gamermattsgf @mattscoquette @nervoussagittarius @sugrhigh @jnkvivi @sturnsmia

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo oneshots #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #Spotify

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ellecdc · 2 days

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how do you think the boys would react to reader telling them that she’s like NEEDY needy (iykyk)

would they do it, or just like get shy and walk off? or? 👀👀👀👀👀👀

mature content ahead: view discretion is advised

So, are they in a relationship yet? I'm going to go with they're in a relationship for this but if you meant they weren't you can feel free to re-ask

James:

chokes on his spit and nearly trips as he turns to look at you in shock (not unpleasant shock, mind you)

"You're what?"

He'd coo in sympathy after you had to embarrassingly repeat yourself in a whisper, rubbing your thighs together desperate for friction

"awe sweets. Okay, come on." and he's leading you by the hand - he's almost more eager than you are as he rushes down the hall

ends up on his knees with his face under your skirt in the closest bathroom - you'd be taken care of for sure 😩

Sirius:

biggest shit eating grin you've ever seen in your life and you almost regret saying anything

I think he'd tease you a little bit: "Awe, poor dolly's feeling needy, hm?" He'd coo in faux sympathy, the bastard

He'd make you tell him exactly what you're looking for. "What do you want, dolly?" 'touch me' "Like this?" and all he'd do is push your hair behind your ear

two can play at that game: 'Fine, I'll go ask someone else.'

He'd let out a horrified squawk and throw you over his shoulder. "Now now, let's not get hasty. I don't want anyone thinking I don't take care of my girl"

bent you over in the nearest broom closet and you both leave flushed and satisfied

Remus:

would smirk at you but continues reading through the first draft of his essay "really dove? now?"

he'd chuckle listening to you pout and get all breathy as you try to sit still "We've got homework, baby girl."

You'd get petulant and lean back in your seat with a huff, crossing your arms.

without even looking, he'd grab the leg of your chair and pull it over towards him - he'd keep his head low and continue making adjustments on his paper as he slips his free hand under your skirt and moves your panties aside.

"Awe, poor dovey - you really were needy weren't you" he'd lightly tease, murmuring softly so only you could hear.

your breath would hitch as he slipped inside of you, earning you a gentle shush as he threatens to stop moving his fingers.

"I'll take care of you but you have to be quiet; only I get to know how pretty you sound, yeah?"

gets you off with just his fingers in the library - makes up for it again later once he's done his essay

Regulus:

he's mean, I'm sorry

he'd make you wait all day

he'd go to class, to every meal, to quidditch practice barely sparing you a glance leaving you all the more desperate

it was painful for him too, mind you. Thinking about you being needy made him needy, and he spent all day dreaming of taking you over and over and over again

but he's a bit of a sadomasochist lol

he'd finally be all wound up after quidditch practice and would pull you roughly into his room and, like he'd been imagining all day, take you over and over and over again

to the point of over stimulation

"Come on amour, you can give me one more, yeah? Wasn't this what you wanted? Weren't you so needy?"

he got three more for his dirty talk alone

Barty:

no questions asked

'Barty?' "Yes Treasure?" 'I...I want, erm....I mean I...I feel kind of needy'

slams book shut and throws it over his shoulder where it lands in the fountain with a splash

"Where are you two going?" his friends ask bemusedly

"I'm going to treat my girl like a slut the way she deserves, Black; if you're not going to help, mind your fucking business"

you spend the rest of the day in his bed, fucking, smoking, eating, fucking, smoking, fucking, reading, fucking again

you'd hardly ever need to worry about feeling needy with him - whenever, wherever, however - consider it done.

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undercoverpena · 2 days

Text

1. tie the knot

javier peña x f!reader* | chapter one of let us pretend

summary: peña has been back in Texas for all of five minutes, thinking he wants a simple life. but, when steve offers him the chance to gather information on a potential new player, he jumps at the chance. the only problem is, to do so, he'll need to go undercover with a female agent—and pretend to be her husband.

wordcount: 4.6k chapter themes: fake dating/relationship/marriage, forced proximity / sharing one bed, colleagues to lovers, no use of Y/N, *female agent has a nickname (sunny) for use undercover. an: this week i am full of surprises. welcome to the world of let us pretend. this chapter might not feel different from htcu, but it is.

All he has to do is pretend. Put on an act.

It’s simple on paper. Easy. A thing he’s already a master in, something he has never found particularly difficult or hard: pretending.

Javi, after all, had had always been pretty good at concealing, at masking—

“Y’need to pretend to be married.”

Faking being a husband was a new one.

Having lived with far too many emotions for so long, it’s not hard for him to fake nonchalance.

Colombia had been his school. The place where he collected his degree—days of pretending he was okay. Hiding the fact he couldn’t sleep the horrors away, that he wasn’t falling apart at the seams. That stress wasn’t making him chain smoke and the pressure wasn’t making him sink his cock into women he couldn’t save.

He picked up his doctorate when he returned home. When ranch life had felt so fucking dull it made him want to pick the smoking habit back up, just for something to do. When he saw boats that made his insides twist, but found he had to wear a smile. Hiding, as expertly as he could, so he didn’t bristle each time someone called him a hero—when all he wanted was a drink, a fuck or a newspaper.

Mostly, Javi had become a master in squirrelling away the fact he saw every minute of the hours at night, feeling nothing short of relief when his alarm chimed so he could get out of his homemade prison.

Bluffing had always been a skill of his. But, this, this was new to him. His bluffing had never required him to wear something shiny on his left hand and—

“And, Jav. Try not to fuck her.”

He’s not surprised that Steve heads up a department in Miami—or that he’s happy and content.

From the moment the two of them reunited, he took in the glow on his old partner’s skin (the one he strongly suspects isn’t just from the sun) and listened as he heard short (in Murphy’s opinion) stories about his daughter growing older.

Javi couldn’t relate—not that he’ll admit it. Just another thing he disguises. Smothers his face in what he assumes is what happiness looks like, wears it like an accessory, something akin to wearing a jacket, rather than actually feeling it.

Picking up a ring, rotating it between his thumb and finger, he snorts. “Wouldn’t be very husband-like of me, if I didn’t, would it?”

He’s nudged. An intentional elbow to the side sparks a grin as he places the ring back into its velvety spot.

Because none of them look right. None seem right—even for a fake thing.

“Fake husband. And don’t fuck this up.”

“I’m hearing a lot of don’ts and not a lot of do’s, Murphy. What the fuck is it you want me to do?”

He’s already been told, informed. Briefed.

Tricked in fact. Requested down here for an opinion, but when his worn-in soles landed in the office of his former colleague, it unravelled into something so much more.

Handed a file—one he knows everyone expects he won’t read—and given a rundown of what the operation is supposed to look like. But Javi knows better. Had known it too. Even suspects, Murphy does too.

One thing Colombia has taught him is that plans don’t mean shit, not when you’re up against an ever-evolving problem.

You don't just want me here for a consult, do you, Murph? Was hopin’ you were bored in Texas.

He suspects that’s why his Pop had given him an arched brow, an expression that was accompanied by pinched lips when he’d first mentioned it. Even his assurance that it’ll be a few days—just helping Steve out was met with a look Javi hadn’t banked on. Realising as he stood admiring wedding rings that his Pop had figured it out long before him.

At least now he understands why he got the Chucho-treatment—not quite quiet, but not quite the same treatment from him that he did the day before.

Instead, that kind of treatment that pierced itself into him, attempted to bury itself inside of him and made guilt flood through him like a poison.

Even if once before he would struggle with it, found himself desperate to apologise—make it up to his Pops—he didn’t this time. Because Javi already struggled. Already grown tired of itching for something.

So, he said nothing. Because he knows Murphy wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Murphy closes his eyes. The same noticeable twitch in his fingers and chewing inside his cheek that Javier can relate to: the sign of a recent quitter, and one attempting to use gum as a replacement.

Needing too.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asks, shifting the conversation, suppressing a yawn.

Before he’d even got on the plane out here, he’d been tired. Already beginning to fray at the edges, sleep had already become an even more distant friend.

All of it had been made worse by the worried look on Pop’s face when he dropped him at departures. It thickened, slathered itself on his shoulders even more so when he calls him from Murphy’s office to tell him it’ll be three months.

“You managed longer than I thought, Javi.” “Pop…”

Even though he had known it wouldn't matter, he had still tried to explain it all over again. From the top. All softly, with patience—the phone receiver leaving an indent on his cheek as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Reminding his Pop that this time he was doing his friend a favour, that it was a one-time thing—a few months, at most.

It didn’t shift the tone—didn’t stop Javi from imagining the disappointed lines bleeding into worried ones, mixing with the ones caused by age. It didn't lessen the tightness over the phone, simmering in the miles of air, because they were both at a standstill in the centre of a formerly (albeit temporary) happy situation.

Sighing, Murphy drops his hand, pulling him back from his thoughts. “She’ll be here, alright.”

Javi snorts, swallowing.

Glancing back over another table, seeing other things, other accessories. Things that’ll help him blend, help the two of you blend. You and him, him and you—a person he knows the name of and nothing else.

Steve had shared that you were good, brilliant, the only one he’d trust. That you knew the work so far better than anyone.

He’d been about to begin unpicking those earlier statements when the door opened, blouse and black tailored trousers walking towards him.

It isn’t anything cliché.

Time doesn’t stop, the room doesn't silence, but something happens. Something shifts, changes—alters. Because instantly, Javi realises you’re pretty. A thought which confuses him, especially when it dawns on him that usually, it’s a woman's figure he notices and admires first, but he finds that it's your eyes that he lingers on.

And fuck do they cut into him.

Practically reach inside of him, before they go through him, digging into flesh and fucking bone.

Then, all at once, ceasefire. A chance to strengthen his façade as you turn to greet Murphy, a handshake, a sea of pleasantries. Enough chance to shove it down, whatever attempted to rise in him.

But, he swears he can still see them behind his lids. Something which makes his jaw tighten, teeth grind—

“You must be my husband,” you say, smirk sliding up into your cheek.

Your body suddenly turns to him, hand sticking out towards him, adding your name to the statement as though stamping it into the air and his body goes clammy, grows warm and makes him suddenly desperate for water, coffee or even whiskey.

Slipping his hand into yours, he’s not surprised to find that it’s soft, the right kind of warm. He’d suspected about as much from just appearances alone.

“Agent Murphy has told me a lot about you, Mr Peña.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he eyes you. “Think my wife should call me, Javi.”

Javi learns, rather quickly, that you have a nice voice.

It doesn’t grate, doesn’t annoy him—it’s informative, but there’s something else there, a playful edge, a little thing within you that hasn’t been crushed.

He remembers when he’d been as sprightly.

Rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm as he does, fingers desperate to clutch a pen, his jaw tightening as he thinks about how he could roll it in his fingers, hold it like he used to hold a smoke.

Fuck, he wishes he could chew his gum.

A thing which is slowly making him more tense.

Not that you seem to notice, too focused on getting him up to speed on the actual investigation. He’d read much of your notes before today, it was the next part he was more on edge by.

Because, whatever his earlier opinion of you was, he was getting the distinct impression you’d rather set your skin on fire than be fake married. A thing you stop trying to hide, your face displaying your disgust at it each time it is casually mentioned.

It was mandatory—Murphy’s words—for the two of you to get to know one another. A crash course, a 101 in the other. It’s told to you, that the two of you are going to be stationed in your new home for the next few weeks, starting from today. But, because they’re merciful—

“Wanted to make sure you had time to get to know one another. So, take the day—work can begin another day.”

“How nice of you, Murph,” he responds, words dipped in sarcasm. Briefly catching sight of you smirking as you study something on the table.

Javi had already imagined that—since it was recon, and more surveillance than anything else—for the most part, everything could remain the same. He learnt he was right moments later when it was confirmed his name would remain very much his own, and you were handed his surname like a gift you’d rather burn than accept.

It was you who had to surrender more.

“Y’need a new first name.”

If you were surprised, you didn’t show it. A sea of reasons given, the main one being if anyone asked around with a photo and your name, it would be easier to put two and two together. You lived here, for one.

You keep your eyes down, glancing over the table of possessions you’re allowed to borrow, to play dress up with. Fingers brushing over a watch (silver, a white face)—something haunting in your eye you’re quick to blink away when you meet Murphy’s stare.

Folding his arms, Steve sighs. “Jus’ something you’ll answer to. That can be used in public.”

Javi watches you smirk, something secretive, a hidden joke simmering between the two of you—leaving him very much out in the cold of it.

After a beat, you lick your lips.

“Sunny,” you reply, lifting your eyes, digging each syllable of the name you’re going to use into him.

“Let me guess you’re someone’s ray of sunshine?”

He doesn’t mean for it to fall out laced in bitterness, but it does all the same. His mouth tilted into a smirk, your eyes hardening as you placed down a pair of earrings you’d picked up.

“Think it’s more because of my sunny disposition.” He snorts, watching you move around the table. “It’s a family nickname—I’ve… I’ve always been called it, so, I’ll answer to it.”

Swallowing, Javi lets his eyes wander to the wall of the room.

“Alright, you two. You need to sell it, y’hear me?”

“Then we need money.” It’s short, stern, the way you deliver it, head tilted and face unreadable. “We’ll be sniffed out immediately without it. These people deal in money, not handsome faces.”

"So, you think I'm handsome?"

The roll of your eyes doesn't dispute it, not as you direct your attention back to Murphy.

Who, until now, Javi hadn't realised (with his hands on his hips) how big boss Murphy looked as he whispered fine, or how much it rather annoyed him. How it would be quite easy to give him a shove. More so when he’s handed a new phone, a set of documents, credit cards and given more instructions he wishes he could shove down his throat.

He almost gets close enough to do both when briefing ends and he’s handed the keys to the hotel suite they’d be living in—their story simple, easy:

“We have a fake house for you both being made ready as a cover story, but for now you’re both in the hotel. Prime location. Beach views, and very much in reach to the top places the targets visit.”

And, Murphy hadn’t been lying.

It did have good views, the suite was even nice—really nice.

Almost too nice for a little surveillance, a little fake marriage and a drug bust. But, he didn’t complain, barely said a thing in the ride over, or when you wheeled your own case. He even remained silent when you refused to look at him in the elevator or on the walk to the room, and even when the two of you entered.

In fact, the first words he said were: “You gotta try and look at me like you don’t wanna peel my skin off. You know, if you want this to work.”

He expects it; braces for it, the tongue lashing, an icy stare. Picturing you as the kind of woman who is already to sharpen your tools and pierce him with them when he blinks. But, you don’t.

If anything, Javi watches in slow motion as your shoulders sink, your cogs turning before your expression softens.

“You’re right—I’m… sorry.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he nods. “There’s one bed.”

“Well. We can sleep in the same bed, Peña. We’re adults. However, for your sake, I’m going to put a pillow between us.” Your eyes sweep over him, cold, drowning him in a chill. “Two actually.”

“You a cuddler, or something?”

Smiling, you sigh. “No. The pillow is so that if you roll over all sleepy and desperate for some affection, I won’t have to cut you. Because if you touch me, that is what will happen.”

“How are we meant to sell we’re in love if I can’t touch you?”

“Oh, out there, you can touch me. In here, no.”

His snort rumbles from his chest. Tugged up, wrenched from some cobweb-filled depth, as you smile. Nothing big, nothing life-changing, but a start—the beginning of a level-playing field.

“What kind of touching, cariño?”

Jaw tightening, you smirk—but it’s cold.

He suspects you’re used to charm. Easily able to disable it, switch it off, unfazed by his gaze or the edge of his words. If anything, you seem really fucking bored of it—something he’s not sure if he admires or despises.

“Nothing like you used to pay for, Peña.”

Before he’s even recovered, he learns that you take things seriously.

Your bag opens, pulling out a notebook—upside down cursive etched over a page, your eyes scanning over it, before you ask if he’s ready. He’s barely able to ask for what, when you begin firing things at him.

Favourite food. Comfort film. Where did we meet? What song do you sing in the car when I’m not around? Are you allergic to anything?

The list goes on, and on. The more things continue to run out of your mouth, the more he begins to admire you—to settle into some comfort that you want to do this properly. That you’re going to take it seriously too, something he wants.

Needing it to matter.

Needing to have something work out easily, not have it all end for nothing.

The only time you pause is for a dinner—room service, his treat and his choice. A way of providing proof that he’d been listening, paying attention—somehow wanting to prove something to you, even if he’d known you for only half a day.

“So, how did Murphy get you on this?”

He studies the way you cross your leg over the other, the base of your heel tapping against the carpet—all very much guarded, on edge.

“You can tell it’s my first, can’t you?”

Javi smiles, making it softer purposefully. “A little.”

“He said you were good,” you sigh, placing your napkin down. “I assume I was chosen because it was easy. Y’know, than someone with… higher priorities. Plus, I already know the case. Guess it just made sense to send me.”

Nodding, he watches as you avoid his sight, focusing instead on the swirls in the carpet. Something ticking in your pretty little head, it forcing your nostrils to flare, for your jaw to tighten—and he’s watching it happen, practically feeling the air around you begin to vibrate from it all.

“M’not gonna let anything happen to you, Sunny. You know that right?”

That does it. Further digs in the hatred you’re feeling tenfold because the use of your new name makes you flinch. And he knows, like he had suspected earlier that it means more than just a name. Especially from the look on your face.

At first, your expression is soft, almost mask-less—no walls, no defence. Then, like magic, it shifts. It drapes down, rebuilds, and suddenly there within seconds, the same expression he’s been working with since introduction.

“I have heard how you take care of the women who work with you.”

Picking up your drink, and stirring the straw, you let your eyes meet his. The small wooden table suddenly even smaller—the large suite, suddenly constricting in a way he hadn’t expected so far.

“S’not what I meant.”

“I know.” It’s curt, your reply. Clearing your throat, you snort, “You are handsome. I can see why you did so well. And, I might not need to say this, but I need you to know I like my job, and I don’t require that kind of care.”

Rubbing his jaw, he sighs. “That so?”

“I have something that can help with that. It doesn’t talk. It doesn’t need to remind it that it’s ‘so big’, and it doesn’t need me to call it baby. It just hums—politely—and makes my thighs shake. I just need you to be with me in this.”

He snorts, draining the rest of his glass. The ice clangs just before he places it back down on the table. “You bring it with you, your something?”

Licking your lips, your mouth slides into your cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Steve had told you his credentials—how he worked, how smart he was. How easily he was able to decipher a read on someone.

He did also mention much of Peña’s backstory—including his rich history with the opposite sex. A thing you hadn’t wanted to let escape out coated in catty and wrapped in bitchy. And yet, it had all the same.

You did want to get on with him, you admired him after all. Hearing the truths from Steve made the things that swirled like gossip even more impressive.

But, in all of the briefings you’ve had before agreeing to this, your boss had failed to mention that it wasn’t just the man’s tongue that got women to confess all their secrets, but his ridiculously handsome face too.

The one that keeps turning towards you—eyes concentrated in on you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever had the chance to listen to.

But, it wasn’t just that. It’s that he’s quick-witted, observant, and it most definitely doesn’t help that he’s all broad shoulders and brown eyed. That, in part, you thought you could handle.

Then, he’d flirted.

On any other day, in any other place, you’re sure you’d have melted. Likely leant forward, elbow on your knee, tracing your bottom lip with your finger just to make his eyes drop to your mouth.

But, this isn’t any other day—it’s work, a job, one that requires him (in part) to be a flirt.

Clearing your throat, you smear on a smile. “You not tried to date since you’ve been home?”

His face hardens, just slightly.

It pinching, eyes more so than anywhere else—his smile falling, descending to a thin line as he traces his teeth with his tongue. Then, his eyes shift into an entirely different brown, an explosion of shades swirling—flecks of gold and sadness-infused umber.

“No.”

Nodding, you pick at some salad on the side of your plate. “Probably a good job—don’t need any angry people coming for me when I’m curled up on your arm.”

He snorts, but it doesn’t flutter over his face. His hand remains balled up, resting on the arm of the chair—something more there, prodding, needling him. He may be so easily able to read you, but you’re sure he’s about as clear as a warm day himself.

Landing his gaze back on you, you feel it linger, hover—before it begins to slip down from your eyes, landing somewhere at your neck, before the buttons off your shirt. Something warming inside of you, flooding out, spreading across your skin as you try your damnest to level your breathing.

“Got any more questions?”

“Plenty,” you reply, almost catching the y on your teeth before placing a light smirk out over your lips, letting it move across your face.

Gesturing, Peña licks his lips and so you begin with more. Not needing the book now, just working your way through the things which populate, which appear like bubbles he bursts with his answers.

He’s open about some things more than others. The two of you covering family quickly, childhoods even quicker. You both discreetly avoid too many details of Colombia, about the things you’d already heard in chunks from your superior.

Your 101 beginner class in your new husband proving to be easier to understand than your field handbook—although, you supposed the intermediate and expert levels to him would be far harder to crack.

He’s unmarried, not dating—there’s his dad, a sea of distant family and a town full of people whom his father would class as family. You suspect some guilt there, it layered between the conversation on his dad, and the one which followed when you’d asked if the ranch would be okay without him.

“—My Pops has had help for a long time. One of them has been promoted. He… He works there full time now.”

Even if he had tried to say it simply, it was laced in bitterness—not from jealousy, you suspect from the sadness that had poisoned over time. A well stuffed with things which had rotted and gone mouldy over time.

Upon sight of him this morning, you had known you’d need to be clever, smart—find ways to compartmentalise it all. Because, when he traces his nose with his finger, when his eyes widen a little more than normal—coffee-brown all but drowning you—you had known it would be hard otherwise.

Something there, niggling, piercing through.

“Any lovers I need to be aware of?”

Smiling, you slide your feet from your heels, pulling your legs up more, swallowing. “No, you’re good.”

“Any potential risks I need to be aware of—anyone who’ll call into question your new name?”

Your stomach knots, uncomfortably so. A thing balling inside of you, that same fear you’d been plucking at for days—ever since Steve had suggested your name, thrown it out on the conference table with a bunch of greedy eyes seated around it.

“No, I… you have nothing to worry about.”

He looks at you, lets it hover, hold. Something there, trying to disguise itself in the way he narrows his eyes a fraction, in the way his lips pinch together—the way his brain seems to whir like a fan that can be heard even across the table.

When you yawn, he makes a move to tidy up the plates for the tray—batting your hand away. “I’ve got it, cariño.”

“Cariño?”

Your cheeks are warm, more so under his stare. Easily able to smother it the first time, but found it difficult the second. It’s all wide, blooming—it tracing your eyes before it sweeps back to the tray.

“Gotta call my wife something original, special.”

“I’m hardly special, Peña.”

“If I’ve married you, you’re special.”

Clamping your mouth shut, you say nothing.

Something churning, a horribleness that you know stems from the fact this isn’t real. None of it. The niceness, the ring on your finger—the one your finger slides up your palm to brush over, to trace.

The one which didn’t have a home there this morning, but now sits like it’s always supposed to. Your stare on his back as he goes to the door, pushing the metal tray, the jingling of plates and glass sounding out as your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

It continues to hammer when your back flattened against the bathroom door—safe amongst marble, mirrors and an array of complimentary products which covered most of the sink.

Only as you begin to undress and change for bed, does it lessen, does your composure return back to you. The mask which you so delicately applied, the one which had taken more words of encouragement in your bathroom mirror this morning than you’d thought.

Because, it isn’t that you thought you couldn’t do this—but rather why would you?

This isn’t your expertise. Not your usual field of knowledge. The last time you’d even been on a date had been at least over a year ago, and the last time you’d lived with a man had been so long ago you were worried you’d wake tomorrow and learn you have habits you weren’t aware of.

Did you kick in your sleep?

Did you grind your teeth?

“Cariño?” Peña calls out, knuckles tapping on the door. “You good in there?”

No, you want to reply. Hands gripping the sink basin, staring at your makeup-less face and the nightie he was about to see you in.

“Yeah,” you call out, washing your hands, and flushing the toilet before unlocking the door, and emerging.

He’s polite enough to not drink you in, even if you're sure he’s craning his neck not to do so.

“Look. Before you crack your neck from not doing so.”

Smirking, he traces his fingers across his chin, before slowly dropping his eyes.

And you feel them.

Warm. Hot. Sliding over your neck, collarbone, down the silk which covers your chest, abdomen and most of your thighs, before he’s running his vision back up.

“Better?”

“Nice legs.”

Narrowing your eyes, you straighten your spine. “Try not to dream about them, and Peña?”

He hums.

“Try to remember you’re not actually married, don’t want you falling for the fantasy we’re putting on. Hate to break your heart.”

Leaning against the doorframe, staring at you, you somehow manage to level your breath. “If it’s you breaking my heart, Sunny. I might just let you.”

Your mouth almost falls open. Almost.

Something you think he's aware of from the way he smiles, from the way he drinks you in before he whispers about getting passed.

Then, you're alone.

Filling your lungs with a breath, staring around the room not sure how you're going to make it a week not cracking, never mind more.

CHAPTER TWO ->

AN: tag list won't be around from chapter two, thank you for letting me tell the story how i always envisioned. your kindness is appreciated.

taglist: @thetriumphantpanda @texassmiller @wordywarriorwrites @iknowisoundcrazy @thundermartini

@secretelephanttattoo @belliezz @picketniffler @thelightsandtheroses @sawymredfox

@toomanytookas @auteurdelabre @grumpygrumperton @noisynightmarepoetry @missladym1981

@maried01 @livswayout @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @perotovar @inept-the-magnificent

@copperhalfcent @morallyinept @inside-the-mind-of-a-wallflower @nabiiturner

@venturawriter @blablablasssss @half-moon16 @nerdieforpedro

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flemingsfreckles · 1 day

Text

Physio’s Daughter pt.4

Jessie Fleming x Physio!Reader

Read the previous parts here

Warnings: a little cursing, a small bit of homophobia (it’s minor teasing by a child)

WC: 4.3k

A/N: I struggled with this part, so I do apologize for how long it took and that it’s shorter. There’s a lot of timeline jumps in this part just as a heads up. I know where the story is going to end up I’m just having a hard time making the plot to get it there.

It was Jessie’s fault your attempt at being just coworkers failed so quickly. It was only hours after you had said goodbye to her in the lobby of the training center when you received a notification on your phone.

_jessflem has requested to follow you

You smirked down at the notification. You knew she wasn’t big on social media so the follow felt intentional. You open your phone to accept her follow request and go to follow her back only to realize you already followed her. You also weren’t too keen on social media, you really didn’t have the time with school, but you found yourself in typical behavior with the other young adults your age, “stalking” Jessie’s page.

You scroll all the way to her last photo, it’s just a scenery shot. You look at it for a second before starting to scroll back up. Too frenzied with your scrolling you feel the phone vibrate in your hand slightly, the same way it vibrated if you liked a photo.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you stop your scrolling, starting to slowly scroll backward to see that you had just liked a photo from 2020. Four years ago. It was one of her smiling, holding a soccer ball in her Chelsea training kit. She looked adorable.

Jessie Fleming: Doing a bit of stalking, are we?

The sound of your text notification making you jump in your otherwise silent apartment. Before you can even open the first text you receive a second.

Jessie Fleming: Do you stalk all your coworkers, or just the ones you’ve kissed?

You: Hard to say, I haven’t kissed any other coworkers, maybe I’ll have to kiss some other ones and see if it leads to stalking.

Jessie Fleming: Fair

You leave her text without a response. You had both agreed to be professional, this seemed like it was going to maybe be the opposite of you kept texting her.

You close Instagram and move from your couch into the kitchen. You were excited for your next few days to be off days. You planned to essentially do nothing but sit, watch trashy TV and do anything to keep your mind from wandering and thinking about Jessie. Moving to the fridge you get out some ingredients to make yourself chicken and pasta, it was easy but it also counted as a home cooked dinner so you couldn’t complain.

In the middle of digging through your cabinets for spices you get a knock on your door. Skeptical of who it may be, you move to the door slowly, looking though the peep hole. There stood your Mom, not someone coming to murder you, well, you’re not too sure on that you think.

You open the door to see her standing with a bouquet of flowers and a brown paper bag tucked under her arm.

“Can I come in?” She wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to be seeing right now but she was your Mom, so you extended you hand to take the bag and let her in.

“Are you here to yell at me again, because I’ve honestly had enough over the past couple of days to last a lifetime, I don’t need any more.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” she gently smacks the top of your head. “I’m actually here to apologize. Do you think I’d bring snacks and drinks if I was here to yell at you?”

“Maybe you brought them to flaunt in my face while you yelled at me.”

Your Mom rolls her eyes at you and begins digging through the bag she brought. She gets out some candies that she knew you loved, some popcorn, a bottle of wine, and a 6 pack of beers.

“Is this your peace offering?” You ask as you grab the bag of sweets, opening it and popping one in your mouth.

“I don’t know if I’d consider it a peace offering just yet but I wanted to at least talk, I figured I could start making amends with snacks.”

“Okay.”

“Look, I’m not really sorry for what I said, I said it for a reason and I stand by what I said.” She lets out a breath. “But I am sorry for how I said it though. I treated you like a child, that was unprofessional, you’re an adult and should be treated that way at work at least. Unfortunately, I’m your mom, so you’ll always be my little girl. And in this circumstance I was frustrated with you as a mom and as a coworker.”

“Why were you frustrated with me as a mom?” You understood the coworker, but the thought of you disappointing your Mom hurt a bit, you hadn’t realized you had upset her as a daughter.

“I don’t know if frustrated is the word I guess. It’s just weird seeing your daughter being defiled against the wall by another person especially at work when it’s with her coworker who she told you nothing was happening with.” Your blush comes back and you look down at your drink before taking a large swing, not wanting to think about your Mom walking in on you and Jessie.

“How many times do I have to tell you she wasn’t defiling me, it was just a kiss.”

“I don’t really care what she was doing to you, the less I know the better.” You Mom holds her hands up stopping you. “I am sorry I made a scene in your office about it. That was inappropriate on my end.”

“Thank you.” You take another sip. The two of you stood in silence around your kitchen table. This was going to be a long night.

It was nearly an hour later, you were drinking through your fourth beers and your Mom was working through her third heavy pour of wine. You could tell you were both feeling the effects of the drinks and it was likely your Mom would be spending the night. You felt your phone buzz in your lap and you looked down to see Jessie’s name again.

Jessie Fleming: sorry if I made it weird with my text from before, I promise only to be professional from now on.

You feel yourself smiling at the text, something about the idea that she thought about you again to text you made you feel warm and fuzzy. Unfortunately, with the alcohol in your system you did a worse job at hiding your emotions than you thought.

“Ohhhhh, look at you smiling at your phone, let me guess is a certain Canadian captain texting you?” Your mom teases from the other side of the couch. Her foot giving your leg a tap.

“Mom please.” While you tried to deflect her comment it was obvious by your smile that she was right about who had texted you and she knew she was right. You didn’t want to have to sit here with your tipsy mother and her comments about you and Jessie. Thankfully she stays quiet for a few minutes with the two of you not speaking.

“This is maybe the wrong way to go about this, but I’m trying really hard to be your Mom, not your coworker, so, tell me about her? Pretend I don’t already know her, pretend you’re telling me about just a crush from school or something.”

“Mom, we don't have to do this.”

“Oh come on, indulge me, I miss it. I remember when you were a little girl and you would come home telling me about the pretty girls in your class, and then in fourth grade someone told you that you couldn’t find other girls pretty.” You cringe at that memory. Some boy had overheard you saying how you thought another little girl in your class was beautiful and he had told you it was gross for boys to think boys were cute and for girls to find girls cute. Unfortunately that little shit’s comments stuck with you through your whole life, impacting you heavily as a child.

“And so then you only ever came home talking about boys, but I could tell it wasn’t quite the same as how you felt toward the pretty girls. And then when you were 17 you came to me to tell me about the pretty girl you had a crush on and I was so proud of you and excited that that stupid boy didn’t change you. And then since you’ve moved out for school I got to hear snippets over the phone about dates but it’s not the same. So indulge me. Tell me about her as you would any other girl.”

“But you do know her, Mom.” Still hesitant to have this conversation about Jessie, it was easy when your Mom didn’t know the other person.

“Does she have a job? Does she have aspirations? Where’s she from?” She ignored your comment and starts firing off questions.

You let out a small giggle as you take another drink, your Mom was always one to interrogate you about girls you talked about, it was just funny the way she was pretending she didn’t know Jessie.

You fell into conversation with your Mom for a bit. She’d ask questions, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that you were talking about Jessie. You answered, the small trace of beer in your system making you care slightly less, also knowing that your Mom had had her fair share of wine.

You told her about your conversations with Jessie, ones from all the hours you two spent secluded in the training rooms. You told her about your mutual aspiration for travel, how you’d talked about school, she taught you what she learned as an engineer in school, you talked about her family, her family dogs, all the tiny details you could remember about Jessie.

The more you talked about her, the more you watched your mothers face change. Originally looking a little uncomfortable when you talked about Jessie but now she was grinning back at you.

“You actually like her don’t you?”

“Obviously.” You huff throwing your arms up.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you just thought she was hot and you wanted to hookup with a professional athlete .”

“Mom!” You can feel your cheeks start to heat up.

You both fall into silence, your Mom finishing off her glass of wine and you staring at the ground thinking about everything you just said to your Mom.

“I forgot to say this earlier but I’m also sorry I accused you of lying to me.”

“It’s fine Mom, really don’t worry about it.”

Your Mom stands from the couch with a yawn. “Guest room made up by chance?” You nod at her. It wasn’t really a guest room, more of a den in your apartment that you had made an office with a bed in the corner.

Before she left to go to bed she moved over to you, placing her hands on your shoulders.

“Kiddo?” You cringe at the childhood nickname, looking up at her. “I’m not going to tell you to do anything with Jessie, but, you’re stubborn and I know you will. So just please, if you two decide to take your relationship anywhere, just be adults about it. Don’t let it affect work, don’t let it mess up her playing, don’t sneak around. If you want to be adults, act like it, tell the people who need to know.”

“We already talked, nothings going to happen.”

“I know you think that, but when the two of you see each other for almost 2 months straight, I think it’ll maybe be hard to keep it that way. I’d still advise you two to avoid each other as much as you can, keep it professional, that's the right choice in my eyes. But, unfortunately my more realist advice, wait until the Olympics are over when you’re no longer associated with the team and you’re back at school. You don’t want to be accused of the team’s downfall because Fleming is too busy staring off at her own trainer to make a decent pass.” With that she walks away from you, placing her glass in the sink and wandering to the den.

You knew most likely your Mom seemed to be okay with you and Jessie once you were no longer a trainer was just the wine talking and she’d go back to normal in the morning but for now you’d take it. You put your own bottle in the recycling and head into your bedroom. You consider texting back Jessie but decide against it as you plug your phone in and set an alarm for the next morning.

The next morning you wake up and make your way into the kitchen finding a note from your mom saying she left early, she loved you and she’d see you soon.

You grabbed a pan from the kitchen and opened the fridge to find eggs and started making yourself breakfast.

The sound of your phone ringing causes you to jump and let out a yelp, nearly dropping the egg you were cracking. Turning around you grab your phone, seeing Jessie’s name across the screen. You debate not answering, but maybe she needed you for work reasons, so you answer.

“Hello?”

“Should I be scared that your Mom tried to call me yesterday?”

You hadn’t expected that to be her first words. “She what?”

“Yeah, I didn’t answer, I was still trying to get home but she called me, no voicemail, no text, just a missed call. So I’m asking, is she still out for my head because of us?”

“There’s no us, but probably not? I don’t know. She showed up unexpectedly at my place last night to apologize for how she yelled at me.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I guess? I mean she’s still pretty upset, but she apologized for treating me unprofessionally. So maybe she wanted to apologize to you too, I’m not sure.”

“Oh.”

“She also asked about you.” There’s silence on the other end, you pull the phone back to check that the call hadn’t ended.

“Hello?” You stirred your eggs.

“Hi.” Jessie’s voice comes through clearly.

“Oh I thought you maybe hung up.”

“No.” There’s another pause. “What did she ask?”

“Everything I guess? She had maybe a few too many sips of wine.” You let out a small laugh. “She told me to talk to her about you as if she didn’t know you. It was something we used to do when I was a kid. I’d sit and tell her every detail about the boys or girls I liked.” You turn around to lean against the kitchen table.

“That’s sweet that she wanted to do that with you.”

“Yeah.” It’s now you leaving a long silence. “It could’ve been the wine talking but she was less mad I think, she even suggested we just wait until the Olympics are over to figure out what it is between us.”

You hear a sigh come through the phone. “I thought we agreed to be professional.”

“We did.”

“No offense but telling me that your Mom suggested we figure out something after the Olympics isn’t really professional at all, it’s only going to get in my head.” Her voice now sounding upset and frustrated.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry Jessie.” You’re not sure why you’re really apologizing, all you did was tell her what she wanted to know.

“It’s fine, I gotta go.” She rushes her sentence.

With that the line went dead and you stared back at your phone you could see your reflection in the black screen. The whole conversation ran through your head again. She had seemed excited that you talked to your Mom about her, but maybe you misunderstood. Jessie’s mood had taken such a sharp negative turn at the end, when you mentioned the possibility of post Olympics.

You open your texts, and start typing.

Hey, that was weird, sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just thought we were maybe still doing the friendly flirting given you brought up our kiss yesterday.

You erase the message. Locking your phone and turning back to see your eggs burnt, just starting to smoke.

“Shit shit shit.” You rushed over grabbing the pan and turning off the burner. Too frustrated first with Jessie’s confusing behavior and then with your ability to burn the easiest breakfast, you decide to grab a book and sit outside hoping you wouldn’t have to think about reality for a while.

The rest of your day was easy, you sat outside reading two whole books and also getting incredibly sunburnt in the process. The thought of sunscreen completely slipping your mind. You were able to not think about school, or your mom, or work, or Jessie, or the Canadian team at all.

The next three days played out the exact same, except with sunscreen this time. It was good, you genuinely got a break, from school, from work, and from life. It was great. Everything was going well, you had managed to not think about Jessie most of the day, until you went to bed and your phone notification popped up, reminding you of tomorrow’s responsibilities.

Calendar: Physio Team Meeting 8:00

Calendar: Meeting w/ J.Fleming 10:00

Calendar: Travel Paperwork Meeting 13:15

You had been excited to see her, that was until your weird shared phone call 3 days ago. It had been radio silence between the two of you since, you never texted her and she never reached out. Not that you expected her to, but it would’ve been nice to hear from her.

Your morning was quick, opting to just eat at the facilities instead of waking up early to make your own breakfast. You met your mom in the parking lot and the two of you walked into your first meeting together. It was general information for the upcoming schedule. The players were set to come back in 3 weeks for 5 days, the team would then travel to Paris to get settled before starting play later that week. It was going to be a busy 3 weeks before the team came back, everyone being given various tasks and responsibilities to oversee in the meantime. Yours as you had already been told was to keep Jessie in the loop with her teammates, as well as keeping up with her teammates themselves.

And that’s what you did at 10:00. You got onto your computer joining a call that was supposed to be you, Jessie, and Sarah, one of the other physio’s who was supposed to be the professionalism buffer. Unfortunately she had other things that took priority which left just you and Jessie.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Um Sarah isn’t coming, she has some other things to take care of that we’re more important than babysitting me in this meeting.” You feel your palms sweating, wiping them on your pants.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So we can get into it here-” you start to pull up a spreadsheet with information on each of the roster’s players. You didn’t feel like doing the small talk with her right now.

“Really quick, I wanted to apologize.” You stop messing with the document on your screen and look over to where the box with Jessie’s face was. “About that phone call, I made it weird, I think I just got a little, I don’t know, maybe overwhelmed, so I’m sorry.”

“Oh it’s fine.”

“It wasn’t fine, it wasn’t okay for me to be unprofessional when I texted you earlier and then get upset with you for doing the same.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” It was nice that she apologized but it still didn’t provide much of an explanation as to what happened.

The rest of your meeting goes as planned, you walk through every roster member, their current status, if they’re back playing at club yet, if so how many minutes they got in matches, all the details.

“How are you? You’re the only one we haven’t gone through.”

“I’m good.”

“I need more information than that Jessie, come on.”

“I’ve been sleeping better, obviously being in my own bed not a hotel helps, I’ve been a little stressed at Portland, things just aren’t connecting there so the playing has been stressful too. But I’ve been playing full 90’ still and the calf is treating me well.”

“Thank you, I’m glad to hear about your calf.” You can’t help but smile, thinking that your work and knowledge actually helped Jessie return to playing like herself. You type in the information she tells you into your document and then save the file and close it, bringing Jessie face to fullscreen on your computer.

“Alright, I guess we’re all done here then.”

“I actually had one more thing.”

“Oh! Sorry I should’ve check if you were done. Just let me open up my file again, hang on, sorry about that.”

“No, it’s not for the file.” There’s a pause, you just look at her on the screen. She’s looking down and you’re pretty sure playing with her hands, the way she does when she’s nervous.

“Can we please be friends? I’ve been wanting to text you about books I read, or cool travel locations I’ve seen. I wanted to text you that I saw a family of deer the other day and it reminded me of you telling me about the deer in your childhood backyard. But you told me we couldn’t even be friends, so I've been respecting that. But I want to be able to tell you those things, so if there’s any way we could be friends, it can still be professional, but friendly, I’d really like that.” Her sentence is rambling and you could tell she clearly had prepared to ask you but somewhere along the lines was just saying whatever came to her head.

What caught your attention was that she thought of the small 3 sentence story you had told her days ago about your childhood backyard. The backyard where you and your mom used to watch the deer run and graze. She remembered that tiny detail that you told her. It made your heart sing that she remembered.

“We can be friends.” You say with a smile knowing in the back of your head that there would be no way you’d be able to stay just friends with the beautiful girl who was now grinning back at you.

“Yay!” It was such a sweet response, her face lighting up. “Okay I’ll see you next week, same time?”

“Yeah Jessie, thanks, I’ll see you then.” She hangs up the call. You only have a minute in your office in silence before a series of texts come in.

Jessie Fleming: since we’re friends now

Jessie Fleming: look at the deer

Jessie Fleming: 2 Images

You look at the images, one was a photo of three deer, one being a baby, all standing in tall grass, the sun a golden yellow cascading on them. The next photo was a closer shot of the fawn. The pictures looked like someone from National Geographic took them, the detail, lighting, all of it.

You: did you take those photos?

Jessie Fleming: yes

You: wow

You: maybe I’ll have to bring you along on my future travels to be the photographer

Jessie Fleming: I definitely wouldn’t mind that

That was all it took, a simple conversation and two photos of deer to start the friendship between you and Jessie. A friendship that quickly snowballed into what was flirtatious, teasing, sweet, but overall borderline inappropriate for a working relationship. But you didn’t care, it was easy. Over those next three weeks the banter and friendship with Jessie grew and grew, the late nights texting that turned into late nights on FaceTime with the older girl, it felt harmless being that you were so far away from her.

The reality of what you two had developed only set in when it was three weeks later and you were standing in the physio room as players started filing in for the first training session before traveling to Paris.

Jessie walked in, looking around before her eyes caught yours. Her face lit up and you knew yours did too. You felt butterflies in your stomach. She gives you a smile and a quick flash of a smirk as she walks in the other direction going to say hello to the other staff first. She greets them all, you patiently wait, pretending not to be watching her as you restock bandaids in a drawer. But you were, out of the corner of your eye you couldn’t help but watch her move around the room, your heart rate picking up speed as she would move closer and closer with each person she said hello to.

“I saved the best for last.” You hear her soothing voice behind you.

You turn and she’s standing in front of you arms out as she had done to the other staff. You step toward her, wrapping your arms around her waist as she wraps around your shoulders. You wonder how she smells so good for someone who just got off an airplane and a bus ride, but somehow she does.

“I’ve missed you.” Her lips are against your ear and her voice is quiet to not allow anyone else to hear.

“I missed you too.” You whisper back to her. You pull away, catching your Mom’s eye over Jessie’s shoulder. She gives you a tight lipped smile and a small shake of her head.

“Do you need anything?” You offer Jessie, pointing to an open table where she could sit if she wanted her calf or anything else worked on. You don’t miss how at first she doesn’t verbally answer you, instead her eyes move from your face, down your entire body, then back up, her eyes taking an extra second on your lips before returning to meet your eye contact. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, biting her lip softly.

“Nope, I’m good.” She gives you a smile, you can see her cheeks have a slight red blush but you ignore that.

She turns and walks away, Janine catching her on the way out. You watch as the two appear to argue for a second before Janine slaps the back of Jessie’s head softly. Jessie returns the favor and smacks Janine’s arm as they keep moving down the hallway. Just before they hit the corner Janine turns back to look at you, you make eye contact for a second and she raises her eyebrows at you. Not knowing what that means or what to do you just turn back to putting bandaids, tape, and gauze back where they belong.

It was going to be a long 6 weeks with the team.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #canwnt #jessie fleming imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader

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rreids · 2 days

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hey, i was wondering if you'd be able to write smth with Spencer in a relationship with someone with bpd? it's totally okay if you're not comfy with that, but I've just been suspecting i may have it, and ppl with bpd are always portrayed so negatively in relationships. it would be just rly nice to read ur take on how Spencer would handle that and just see some positive representation! (my mental health has also been shit so it would be p comforting lol) thank u 🫶

hi love 🫶 i don't know a ton about bpd, so i hope i did this justice! i researched the diagnosis and how healthy relationships help with regulation and in what ways they do (both accounts from experts and from those who are diagnosed). and i hope you feel better soon <3 it sucks when your mind fights against you.

PROMISES • S. REID X READER

reader has bpd (written by an author without, ideally will be comforting rather than hurtful. please let me know if it is offensive in any way); gn!reader; spencer has to break a small promise but makes others; talks of therapy; teasing; fluff; ~500 words

“Hey, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers into the phone, voice a little strained. “I’m really, really sorry, but I can’t make lunch today. We’re on the way to a case in Omaha. It’s a really bad one.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.”

“You know I want to be there more than anything, right?” He’s shuffling papers in the background, and you know they’re in the middle of getting ready on the jet and that he’s still making time for you, but it still makes your mind race with worry and upset. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week. And I promise I’ll take you out as soon as we’re back.”

You frown, fiddling with the promise ring on your finger. “Will you still talk to me?”

Spencer chuckles. “I think I go insane when I go too long without hearing your voice. As long as you don’t mind calls when it’s two a.m. there, I’m calling before bed every night I have enough time.”

You sigh.

“I know, honey. When’s your next meeting with your therapist?”

“Tomorrow,” you mumble, gnawing on your lip.

“Well, you have permission to talk about how much I suck,” Spencer teases lightly. “As long as you know it’s not by choice that I’m being a bad boyfriend.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re the best boyfriend. You understand me.” He does. He’s looked into BPD extensively — he knows even more than you do, rattling off statistics, assumed causes and connections, coping methods, everything. He knows how to break you out of the spirals and to calm your impulsivities.

“You have other boyfriends?” Spencer sighs dramatically, and you laugh.

“Why would I have them? You’re more than enough.”

Spencer hums. “I am, aren’t I?”

You groan.

“I’m messing with you,” his voice is fond and soft. “I gotta hang up, everyone’s coming and we need all our focus on this case. Message me if you need anything. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t do anything,” you know you’re exaggerating, but it’s hard to stop the words.

“I do, just nothing out of our normal,” he’s nudging you gently, reminding you to think things through before acting impulsively. “I give you permission to watch our show without me if it’ll keep you entertained.”

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll be good,” you draw it out.

Spencer snorts. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Spence.”

A beat.

“I’m not actually going to talk shit about you to my therapist, just so you know. I do talk about you though.”

And then you hang up.

He sends you a ‘???’ and a ‘I wanted to say something still.’ right after. When you tell him to say it, he sends a ‘Do what you need to feel regulated. I don’t take it to heart, you know I don’t.’

And he doesn’t. He’s so sweet, so achingly perfect, understanding of when your moods swing, or when you feel empty, or whenever anything changes and you can’t tell why.

And he always helps you down, kissing scars and tears and whispering praise as he gets you to feel right again.

#my works #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid scenario #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #requested

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bug-bites · 3 days

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batfam beach episode?? real not clickbait no glue no borax??

cw: nothing! pure vacation beach fluff (p≧w≦q) also barely proofread,,,

pairing: gn!reader x batfam (NOT ALL AT ONCE.)

characters: dick grayson, jason babygirl todd, cassandra cain, tim drake, damian wayne (all intended to be interpreted as either romantic or platonic unless its damian. ik in some comic runs he's like an adult but hes like permanently 12 in my head and i dont fw that :/)

a/n: im back with a new dc obsession tee hee (soz to everyone who wanted more abt the cod guys or spiderverse im comicsmaxxing and redhoodpilled) will probably make a part 2 w/ bruce, babs, steph, and duke eventually :3c

Dick Grayson haha dick

oh he loves the beach so much

the sand beneath his feet make him feel nostalgic from when he would practice tumbling with his parents in the circus ring i think there's sand in circus rings right? I dunno someone fact check me on that one

the victim of being buried in the sand, always asks for a mermaid tail but ends up with something like massive sand tits (courtesy of either tim or jason), he laughs it off anyways

somehow gets the worst tan lines. He wore a swim shirt one time and never again because the tan lines looked SO BAD which is a total shame because he tans gorgeously

will beg to do play shoulder wars i have no clue if this is the right name, again fact check me for this thing where you get a piggyback ride from someone and you try to knock someone whos also getting a piggyback ride over in the water

you’re on his shoulders since bro is strong asf and you square up against tim and damian

obviously you lose because hello that's damian wayne we are talking about but at least its fun!!

cass and jason are forever the undefeated champions of shoulder wars though, that goes without saying

Cassandra Cain

shes always seen beach episodes in animes that damian practically dragged her into watching so when she gets to actually go to a beach she is so excited peak sibling bonding is dragging your siblings into your interests

loves building sandcastles and writing things in the sand, watching it get washed away, and then do it all over again

hold her hand and jump over waves together on the shore and she will be the giggliest and happiest human being alive on planet earth

but out of all the beach activities she loves beach volleyball

shes actually scarily good at beach volleyball for someone who has never played volleyball before

dick thought it would be fun to teach her and have a friendly match between him and bruce vs you and cass

yeah bruce and dick were COOKED. huffing and puffing like they have a vendetta against the three little pigs at the end of it while cass is like “this is so fun, lets go again!”

ends the day with a little sunset stroll along the shore i need her so bad you do not understand please bbyg ill treat u soooo well

Jason Todd

beaches are fun on paper for him, in person not so much

PERSONAL HC INCOMING! He gets migraines after the lazarus pit so he can only have so much fun before needing to lie face down with his head covered with a beach towel to make everything less overwhelming or he wears sunglasses the entire time

he brings a book to read at the beach and stays in the shade the entire time yes he is that bitch

usually at home in the comfort of his little library he likes to read things that have an impact on him or just stuff that makes him want to analyze deeper. think books like frankenstein, lord of the flies, all quiet on the western front, just generally heavier stuff

but his vacation books? totally different. usually something super light, maybe a shitty romance book that you find in walmart which are clearly just results of book packaging, or a some booktok recommendation he got for shits and giggles because it just was so laughably bad, maybe even a childhood feel-good book like percy jackson or the little prince (mostly just books he would not grieve over if sand permanently got in between the pages)

he tried reading a colleen hoover book once and honest to God wanted to toss it into the ocean HE WOULD HATE HER BOOKS AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

but out of everything he likes watching you enjoy yourself, his book wasnt that important anyways. show him that funky sand dollar you found or that really cool piece of seaglass, he’s probably gonna bring it home with him. a little keepsake along with the millions of grains of sand that never seem to go away

Tim Drake

Burns so easily

At first its kinda cute, like hes asking you to help him get that spot on his back he just cant seem to reach and its just a little sweet moment between you two as you rub the sunscreen into his sore muscles

But then it happens again. And again. And again to the point when he goes up to you, you automatically reach for the tube of SPF 100+

I just know his vitamin d deficiency goes crazy

Leaves the beach looking like a lobster, sunburnt, a crazy bump on his head from getting hit with a volleyball, and some god awful sunglasses tan lines

Overall, beach activities are not really his thing bros job is NAWT beach

Enjoys the boardwalk a lot more than the beach itself, likes the touristy stuff but still goes to the beach because dick loves it and he loves his older brother :(

Damian Wayne

i feel like he wouldn’t care too much for typical beach stuff. like at every beach that has sand and decently clean water you can do most beach activities

one thing that is never 100% consistent at all beaches is what lives on the beaches. this boy will spend hours staring into tidepools

bruce was lowk concerned because his son did not gaf about normal beach activities that kids do but eventually he reached a point where he was like "i mean at least hes having fun and being safe"

i feel like talia would always show him books of sea creatures when he was little but he never ended up being able to see them in their natural habitat someone take this boy to an aquarium now

tells you fun facts about each creature you come across

will scold you if you take a shell from the beach, definitely says some shit like “how would you feel if someone ran into your house and just took your bed?” based though, leave shells at the beach yall! taking them is like bad for the ecosystem

brings his notebook around and has little sketches of the sea creatures

even though typical beach activities arent his favourite, he doesnt hate it. he likes that he can catch a break from all the vigilante stuff and spend time with his family as a family and not just as a team

loves scuba diving. idk it just somehow makes sense and i think he would look really stupid in a wet suit

also i feel like he would never mention it but in his mind hes fully thinking "this is just like a beach episode" but he would rather die than say it out loud FUCKING NERDDD

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sourlove · 7 hours

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My Mistake ~ YANDERE TODOROKI SHOTO

TW: KIDNAPPING (REGRETFULLY), DELUSION, BLACKMAIL, IMPLIED MURDER, IMPLIED VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF MAFIA AND GANG ACTIVITIES

A/N: THIS WAS INSPIRED BY A 'REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPT' ORIGINALLY CREATED BY @out-of-jams

"Listen, I know this might seem sudden, but I have to get this off my chest. I think I've fallen in love with you."

Slowly, you turn to face owner of the heterochromatic eyes gazing up at you. From where he was tied up. On a chair. In your basement.

"...come again?"

The man you had just kidnapped, with the intent of holding for ransom, blushed. "I think- no, I know I've fallen in love with you."

You smiled faintly, emphasis on 'faint' because there was nothing you wanted to do more than pass out and wake up from this nightmare. Todoroki Shoto was nothing but a spoiled, rich kid on paper. Sure, his father had significant power but that also meant you could charge much more for his release when you kidnapped him.

Unfortunately, hindsight was a coldhearted bitch. How were you supposed to know that he had his own fucking gang? What 23 year old man had that kind of power?? Why is it that the one time you decide to test your luck to get some extra cash, you kidnap a mafia boss???

"From the moment you tried to use that chloroform on me, I-I felt something," Todoroki rambled, interrupting your thoughts. "I was confused at first at the audacity but once I pretended to faint and you dragged me, very painfully I must say, to your van, I knew it had to be fate. I had read about fate before, but I never imagined that it would be this..." He trailed off and stared at your face in dreamlike wonder. "...beautiful."

You laughed awkwardly, silently noting the possibility of brain damage from when you moved him. "That's great man, but look-"

"It's more than great!" He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming excitedly as the ropes strained against him. "Nothing has ever made me feel this way before: flowers, money, the works, but the moment you tied me up, I knew we were-!"

"Look the whole kidnapping thing was a mistake. okay?" You interrupted abruptly. You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. Who knows how long you had until someone found you?

Todoroki's smile melted of his face. "A...mistake?"

"Yes! Exactly! It was just a wrong place, wrong time kind of situation! And I am sooooo sorry so let's just forget this ever happened and I'll even drop you off wherever you need to go." You finished with a nice 'im-so-sorry-for-kidnapping-you-please-dont-kill-me' smile.

He stared at you blankly for a full minute, making you sweat nervously. There was obviously a screw loose in his head and you really hoped you hadn't provoked him too badly.

"So you mean you never planned to kidnap me?" he asked quietly.

You shook your head. "I didn't. I'm sorry? I think..."

The silence echoed throughout the basement as precious seconds ticked by. Your hands itched to do something, but what? You weren't a murderer and there was no way you wouldn't face some kind of consequence so the only way out was to convince him to let the matter slide.

"Liar."

Todoroki chuckled at your dumbfounded expression. "Do you really I would believe that you kidnapped me, Shoto Todoroki, for a mere ransom?" He smiled adoringly up at you and you felt a chill run down your spine. "You wouldn't do something like this," he nodded down at his binds "For someone you don't love."

You backed away slowly. "Hey, you've got the wrong idea, I-"

"No, no I don't have wrong ideas," Todoroki drawled. "In fact I think I might be very right about this one soon."

"W-what...?" Suddenly, a loud pounding came from your front door above the basement. Loud, angry voices spilled into your home and stomped around, obviously looking for something. Or someone.

Todoroki looked almost apologetic as he smiled. "It looks like you'll have to make your choice now, my love. You just ran out of time."

You swore and hastily began cutting at his rope bindings as he watched in amusement. Fuck it. It was better to hang off the arm of this psycho than get caught by his men as his kidnapper. And he knew it too. You wanted to punch his stupidly pretty smug face.

"I'm so glad you decided to see thing my way, darling," Todoroki sighed, wrapping his arms around you. "And since you wanted me so badly, I'll give you exactly what you desire." He pressed your foreheads together just as the basement door splintered open.

"From now on, I'm never letting you out of my sight~"

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swaps55 · 2 days

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(Sorry in advance for the long message) Hey swaps!! It's been a while since I asked, I got into uni (with my best friend) and started studying creative literature and I needed to let you know that it's partially because of you, and I wanted to sincerely thank you. Otherwise I'd never have had the drive to do what I was passionate about instead of chasing an academic degree that would suck the soul out of me. When I read your stories it's incredible, I really experience the story, that only ever happens when I'm reading something you've written. And I'm not the biggest bookworm but there's something about yours, the way you narrate and tell your characters, you write the story but the characters truly do come alive, and I wanted to be able to tell stories like you. I'm currently attempting to flesh out my own story which I think is going not horribly, but I wanted to ask, how do you stay so true to your characters? I've read your posts and when people ask what would happen in certain scenarios, despite what you want to happen the characters have their own personality. Is there a system you use to get all your words out right or does it just come to you? Honestly any advice you could give would be amazing. Thank you again swaps, I know it might be silly to admire and choose a career because of someone on the internet that you've never met, but there's real passion in your work. We can all see how much you put into writing and it truly does make an impact, even if sometimes you can't see it. I think I speak for all dedicated mass effect, and more niche Mshenko, fans, thank you.

This is not silly. At least to me – this means the world to me, and I cannot thank you enough for telling me. And I am SO excited for you; my creative writing workshops taught me so many valuable things. I hope you love it, thrive in it, and write until your fingers fall off.

I can tell you from being in the workforce for a couple decades now that an English/Creative Writing degree can get you to so many places, because storytelling and the ability to write are skills that are crucial in so many industries. It’s so hard to know how much is out there until you get out in the world and really see it, but if you’re curious, adaptable, and passionate, having the ability to write and tell a good story can open so many doors. It has for me. My Real Life job doesn’t involve fiction, but I write and tell stories in ways I really enjoy every day. So whether you go off and become the next Neil Gaiman, and I hope you do, or you find other fulfilling opportunities, use that passion of yours to do something you love and enjoy the hell out of your uni experience.

On to your question: How do I stay true to my characters?

This is going to be a layered, multi-faceted answer because it’s a layered, multi-faceted question.

Developing characters is a very fluid process for me. I don’t like to get too prescriptive about them early on, because I want there to be room in the story for them to grow. I think there’s a relationship that develops between characters and story: characters shape the stories they’re in and are also shaped by them, and if you’re too rigid about the character sheet you have in your head (or on paper), you miss out on opportunities for them to grow with that story. But if you don’t know enough about them in the beginning, your characters will probably feel flat and inauthentic. I can’t really tell you where the line is between knowing too much and not enough – it’s something you learn by doing, and something you develop instincts for over time.

For instance, I don’t know if this will surprise you, but when I wrote Sonata, which was the first Opus story to get off the drafting board, here are just some of the things I didn’t know about Sam:

The nature of his relationship with Anderson.

What happened to his father aside from, “he went missing.”

Anything about his biotic mentor, other than “krogan.”

His biotic “handicap.”

Those line items are all pivotal to who Sam is as a character. But the details of them weren’t pivotal to Sonata, so I left them as broad strokes, and then filled them in when other Opus stories needed me to. This gave me some freedom to craft those details in ways that elevated both Sam and the story I was trying to tell.

There’s also a lot of value in developing characters from both ends: identifying a formative event/moment in their lives and using it as a guidepost to shape the way they see and interact with the world, and establishing a key behavioral or a character trait and then backing into where it comes from.

Example of the former: Lora Alenko experienced having a teenage son who developed an alien medical condition that resulted in him being taken away from her and coming back as a stranger. What does that do to a parent? How does that shape the way she sees biotics? Sees Kaidan? I think about all of those questions when I write her.

Example of the latter: A simple question with a very complicated answer: Why is Sam Shepard the guy who saves the galaxy? Why him, and not someone else?

So that’s one way I think about characters. Here’s another that I think is equally important. I really subscribe to the ideology that every character is the hero of their own story. They don’t know they’re not the main character. They don’t know what comes next, what the plot is, what the themes are, or how they are supposed to serve the narrative. And for a character to really take on a life of their own, I think it’s really important to write them that way. Otherwise it’s easy for characters to get tangled up in dreams or lives that aren’t theirs, which robs them of some of their agency.

Therefore, whenever I park myself between the ears of a character, I do a lot of interrogation. What’s important to them? What isn’t? What does the world look like through their eyes, and how is that different from the other characters? What do they notice that other characters don’t? What do they miss that other characters don’t? How do they interpret the same series of events compared to another character? And then, here’s the kicker that often results in the gnashing of teeth, pulling of hair, and beating of foreheads against walls: how does that perspective tie into the narrative? Because yes, characters are the heroes of their own stories, but they also have to work within the story you, the writer, are telling, whether they know it or not.

That might sound overwhelmingly complex, and it is. But really what it comes down to is asking questions one by one and seeing where the answers lead you. Sometimes, especially with a character you don’t know well, this can be a lot of painstaking work. But in my experience it’s always worth doing.

I hope any of that helps. Sometimes I feel like the only good writing advice out there is that everyone works differently, and you have to find what works for you.

Thank you again, SO MUCH. Truly. This means so much to me, and I am so excited for you!!!!!

#swaps replies #ao3-enthusiast #how writing is written

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